


Double-O Oakenshield

by Bead



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tangent from my <a href="http://bead-bead.tumblr.com/tagged/Sexy-Wounds%21AU">Sexy!Wounds AU</a> in which Belladonna (Bilbo) Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield are MI6 agents, double-o status, and in an established relationship. d recommend going from the bottom up, if you amble over to my tumblr. <b> This story will make so much more sense if you read those first. </b> </p><p>This is a tangent, because it's not got a sexy wound picture to it, and spun off into even more girly fantasy.  You know, the one where we rule the world..  And instead of self-insert,(the original prompt) I gave Bella a name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I was going to make their names more generic and more "Englishy" (even so far as naming them Margaret Hale and John Thorn), but you know, there's a "Felix Leightner" in this universe, so...the hell with it.

“Good morning, mum,” you give your boss a respectful nod, and and give the two men waiting with her cool and professional glances. One winks, the cheeky bastard, and one makes a very very tiny and familiar huff of amusement. 

“Oh, do leave off, 007,” M snaps at the winking one. She turns to you, “And you, 003, please stop screaming internally. I haven’t even read you in yet, and you’re giving me a headache. I’m the one who’s been stuck in here cooling my heels with them, what kept you?” 

“Got a bit sidetracked by Q, wanting me consult on a compact, lightweight rifle sight.” 

“Going to have to have a talk with him about commandeering my agents again, aren’t I? Not like he doesn’t have a roomful of his own or access to other snipers.” 

“Recommend taking away his tea and cocoa for a bit, mum.” 

“And face him in withdrawal? What did I ever do to you, Baggins? You’d think you were exacting some sort of revenge.” 

“I’ll let you know after you read me in, mum,” you reply demurely, giving her a small grin. The lines beside her eyes crinkle slightly and she gives you a few seconds of her famous, twinkling eyes. 

“And you, 005,” she says to your darling, all business again, and pauses a long, nerve-wracking while. “Get a haircut.” 

“Mum, I was instructed to….” 

“Yes, I know, but there are these splendid new inventions called ‘wigs’ and ‘weaves.’ Be good on this assignment, and I’ll see to it you don’t have to wear a wig on your next at this time of year. Right now you’re one stiff breeze from looking like a vagrant.” 

“Yes, mum, thank you,” Thorin replies, his professionalism preventing him from groaning aloud at the thought of having his hair worked on for hours and hours. Bond, however, has no problem snorting with amusement. 

“You should thank me, Thorin” she says, sliding the folders across the desk to the three of you. “Dinner and dancing with Bella, and the chance to punch James in the face before you head east.” 

“Just a chance?” he says wistfully. 

“I’m sure the two of you can work something out. Or not work something out. Just damage yourselves, other people’s property, and not Q branch’s tech _or_ bring back 003 with half her blood volume again, or I will have to take away _someone’s_ cocoa.” 

“You break it, you buy it,” you say lightly, giving him a look. 

“Does that count for both of us?” Bond asks. 

“We aren’t in the market for a you, my dear Bond, I’m so sorry,” you say smoothly, and give him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Plus we wouldn’t have near the closet space.” He scowls and waves his folder at M. 

“The jealous husband again,” he growls. 

“Oakenshield is far more up to speed on this particular security system and safe, the design of which requires a manual touch and not one of Q’s toys. He’s simply better at it.,” M says smoothly. “We need to move on this quickly. We only just got confirmation from our inside source, and the party is tomorrow night. 

“And you need three double-o agents for this?” You ask. 

“Check the guest list, what we’re retrieving, and the building layout. If you get caught, you’ll need the combined strengths of your skills to get out. Needing your combined strengths may hold true even if you don’t get caught.” 

“I can be up to speed on the safecracking within the day, mum,” Bond says. 

“You’re that keen to play the bit on the side?” M asks. 

“My lady’s bit of rough trade? ” Thorin says silkily, and you want to smack him. “Plausible, but really, Bond, you do barely restrained rage so well. You _are_ barely restrained rage. It would be a shame not to use it.” 

“And you just want to show off your tango and do your Cary Grant impression. Or is it smarmy gigolo this time?” He ostentatiously checks his folder, and sighs. “It’s like facilitating foreplay, mum. In public. Not that I’m _opposed_ ….” 

M draws breath to smack them down for being childish, and you speak over her. 

“What do you say, M? You, me, May/December marriage, get Moneypenny out for a spin? I know for a fact she’s got a lovely slinky Valentino in her closet just waiting for an occasion.” 

M sighs. “I might have time to get the diamonds out of my safety deposit box ….what are you planning on wearing?” 

“This seems like a couture crowd.” 

“Mmm, yes.” 

“Gold low back Badgley Mishska or this divine Dior teal silk velvet strapless. Has a bit of a New Look vintage feel.” 

“Oh, I have some lovely pearls that would go with that and your complexion. Happy to loan them,” she muses, and you catch a twinkle again from her and force down a laugh. “Yes, I think the velvet for the romantic edge and let Moneypenny be the slinky aggressor. Lovely contrast. The boys can be back up, tucked out of sight.” Beside you, both men are bristling like affronted cats. 

M lets them squirm and finally sighs. “Sadly, far too big a chance of me being recognized. One of the hazards of surviving the field. And so, my dear, terribly sorry. It would have been a lovely lark. Now,” she says, fixing the men with a steely glare. “Will you two behave?” 

“Yes, mum,” they say glumly.

~~~~

The briefing goes far more smoothly after that, and as you depart, M holds up her hand for you to wait. “Well played, 003,” she says after they’ve gone. “I’ll have Moneypenny send round the pearls in the morning.” 

“Very kind of you, mum,” you say, frankly a little surprised she meant it. 

“Not at all, dear. Consider it as thanks for the looks on those idiot’s faces.” 

“My pleasure, mum.” Your professional demeanor cracks enough that you know your dimples are showing. 

“Oh, I’m quite sure it was,” she twinkles at you, and you feel a glow of pride at this much warmth in one day from the old dragon. “I’d wish you luck wrangling those two, but you don’t need it.” 

“My thanks regardless. May I ask why you’ve paired the three of us? We’ve been on projects together in various pairs before but never …”

“I’ll admit to it being a bit of a test,” she says candidly. “I think you’d do well on this side of the desk one day, which you just proved in part just now quite nicely by taking control of the situation. There’s been some concern that your cohabitation with Oakenshield would compromise one or both of you, but you just manipulated him and Bond, neither of them unintelligent, for their own good, yours, and ours. Not the best for a relationship always, Miss Baggins, but I think you’re up to the challenge. You two have proven to be an exception to the rule, but we both know how precarious this life can be. And I trust I can divulge my motives to you without it going to your head or out of this room.” 

“No, mum, it won’t.” You pause and decide to match candor for candor. “Well, yes, mum, it does a bit, but in the order of an added bit of strength. I’m grateful for your confidence in me, and…..” 

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t say you’ll not let me down, I hate people making promises they can’t keep. Just keep in mind you can set your sights as high as you wish.“

“Actually, I was going to say thank you for the food for thought. I’d planned on year or three more in the field before requesting to come inside.” 

You’ve surprised her. “Bored?” 

“Lord, no. But historically, female double-o agents don’t stay in the field much past 30. I want to come in on my own terms, and there’s just so much longer I’m willing to run at top speed in four inch heels.” 

“Yes, that’s been the nature of the beast in the past, but I was in the …” 

“I know how long you were active, mum,” you speak over her softly. “Call it a gut instinct. In two to three years’ time, I want to come in, be a handler full time.” 

M purses her lips and looks you over. “Make it six months; I want to train you myself as long as possible.” 

You’re floored. “Six months?” 

“Call it my gut instinct, Bella. I’m not as young as I was. And after this assignment, we’ll be unofficially taking tea every week or so at the Vicissitude when you’re in the country. We’ll start looking for someone to take your place in the double-o ranks. I suppose you will have to tell Thorin, after all.” 

“Mum…” 

She gives you a cool stare. “MI6 still a boys club, 003, and you’re still my tool to use as I will. I plan on using you to leave a bit more of a legacy behind. You, Moneypenny, one or two others. Old girl’s club.” The twinkle is back. “You should run along to those two idiots before James runs out of terrible puns or Thorin’s razor tongue makes too deep a cut and they strangle one another.” 

“Yes, mum, and thank you.” 

“Belladonna,” she says as fondly as you’ve ever heard her. “I don’t loan my pearls to just anybody.”


	2. Cupid and Psyche On An Op.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from leupagus:  
> All brought about from Richard Armitage's Esquire UK fashion spread, which you can find over [here.](http://bead-bead.tumblr.com/post/66405082678/leupagus-leupagus-rebelousfairy-richard#notes)  
> reblogging from myself because the more I look at these the more I realize that every sitting-down picture here looks like he’s politely waiting for a lap dance.
> 
>  
> 
> **Do read the other stories, they'll help this make more sense.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Thorn (Thorin) is 005, his wife and partner, Margaret Hale (Belladonna), is 003. Names changed because "Thorin Oakenshield" and "Belladonna Baggins" sort of stick out, yes? 
> 
> Anywho. They're on some shady op. ::hand waves:: 
> 
> "Psyche" is Cupid's wife, who only is able to meet with her husband in the dark. "Fletcher" from the french "fleche" or arrow. I thought it a might on the nose to name him "Mr. Hart." Margaret has a sly sense of humor.

~~~~

"Sorry, darling," you purr as you slide into his lap, having to stretch a bit to sit astride him. "I got a bit tied up." 

John's hands glide down your arms to your hands, which he kisses with obscene deliberation, his eyes on yours, his clever, long fingers checking for ligature marks as he gently bites the heel of your hand for making him wait.

"Not literally, silly," you say breathily, never able to put up an adequate defense for that look in his eye, the will-melting one when his eyes are the hottest blue of a flame, all-consuming and hungry. 

"I can see that," he murmurs, allowing you possession of your hand so that you can keep balance against the sofa as you move above and against him. "All is well?" His hands sketch up your sides, down your hips, all apparently frustratingly covered by your corset, so he lingers on your thighs, where he traces the skin just above the silk tops of your stockings, just enough to make you shiver. 

You look down at his beloved hands as he touches you, thinking that breaking eye contact will actually _help_ snap you back into professionalism. Your skin looks so pale in the light of the club, against your inky stockings, against the fine black wool of his pants. He shifts ever-so-slightly underneath you and leans back, and you have to shift forward as well, and oh. _Oh_...... you bite back a whimper. 

"All is well, everything in place, all we....oh.." He pulses his hips slowly against yours and you swallow hard. If you were anywhere else but on the job, you'd be reaching for his zipper. 

"Who exactly is giving the lap dance here?" you manage to grit out, circling your hips down for a slow grind, your free hand braced against the chair. He gives you a shark's smile, but one more twist and a slide, and he's the one swallowing hard. 

"Left me alone for a while," he murmurs. "I might have picked up a few ideas...." 

"Better be all you picked up..." 

He uses the hand he's holding to drape your arm around his neck, so you're nearly lying against his chest. "What I picked up, my love," John whispers, drifting to nearly caress where your ass meets your thigh. "Is if the General touches you here again, I will gut him."

"Feeling a bit possessive, my darling?" You sit up and slither around so that your back is to him, and let him see there are no marks on your skin. Rubbing against his cock is just a bonus. You glance at the far wall, and notice the General nursing a drink, ogling your performance, lust written on every line of his face. Gotcha. One more swivel of your hips and you skim up and over your darling. 

"Someone else is feeling a bit jealous as well," you murmur. 

"I see the bastard," he says, gathering up a handful of your hair and leaning in to nuzzle against your throat. "The things I'm going to do to you when we get home," he vows. "And then we're never going to do an op like this again." 

"Remarkably. Cavemanlike. For. You. Dear." He has you gasping, holding your hips and rubbing lazily against you. His nostrils are flared and his eyes are that lazy, burning blue again. You can feel the strong muscles of his thighs bunch, and he's right. Never again. Unless there's an op that requires him to be the sex kitten. "Agreed. Have. I. Said. How gorgeous you are when you're frustrated?" 

"We forgot," he growls. "How fucking responsive you are." He grinds his teeth, and looks at you with such passion you nearly lose the thread of what you're doing. Your hand slips on the leather of the couch and you slip, which gives you an extra jolt of reality. Silently, while the General watches, you complete your dance, a not all-together feigned work up to inviting your "patron" back for further services. Thankfully, your darling bastard lets you drive now, so your chances of actually being able to stand when this is done improve. 

"An ac for everyone but you, you bloody trouble maker." You flip your hair to the side (giving the General a good view) put both hands on John's chest and put your all into an arching, grinding come-hither kiss. "I can't wait to get this corset off," you mutter. 

"Too bad, it suits you, and keeps his genocidal mitts off most of you, " he smiles dazed and boyish, and tucks five hundred pounds into your stocking, fingers lingering far higher than they should. "Happy anniversary, darling girl." He slips his hand quickly to the front of your g-string and gives you a tiny, earth-shattering stroke with the ease of long practice. You tremble and pant, both ruthlessly repressed. 

You lean forward and whisper in his ear, feigning an invitation. "You're going to pay for that later, you seductive bastard." 

"Oh, I most certainly hope so." His tips his face up with the awestruck look of a man who is about to get very lucky. 

"Mmmhmmm. Right." you tousle your hair as you dismount and touch your ear piece, keying HQ you're ready for the next phase. 

"Come get 'em tiger," you smile at him. He's got the easy job of safe breaking.

"Do knife him for me will you, darling?" 

"With pleasure." 

He follows you, as if you're heading to the private rooms, and when you draw abreast the General, his hand closes around your arm. 

"I believe I am next on your list, little dancer," he hisses, glaring back at John. 

"Oh," you play up your fluster as you get visual confirmation from the club "manager," who is one of yours, pretending he's giving you the stink eye. 

"He's right, I'm so sorry." You throw a stricken look at your husband. "I'd lost track of the time. I'm so sorry, Mr. Fletcher." 

"Do try not to fall in love the clientele, will you, Psyche? Or entice them to fall in love with you. So tiresome." He leans forward and murmurs to the general. "Though I have to admit, she's quite the tempting morsel." You blush and duck your head. The General inhales sharply, like he's scenting prey. 

He sneers triumphantly. "We will see if you can tempt me, little soul. Please, join us in our private room." He gestures extravagantly in front of him, deliberately cutting your darling off. "And a good evening to you... _sir._ " He says derisively. Henchmen bloom suddenly beside him, looking daggers at anyone who is not you. 

John puts on a frustrated, petulant, almost frightened look, holds up his hands for peace and turns away, neatly pocketing the General's empty glass. Fingerprints acquired.

The game's afoot, and speaking of which, you're never wearing these heels again. 

 

~~~~


End file.
